Diary Of Prisoner 0247 Azkaban Prison
by rosedemon54
Summary: As a prisoner of Azkaban, Severus Snape's diary reveals his thoughts on a visit with old foe, Hermione Granger.
1. Chapter 1

_Sunday May 13 _

I, Severus Snape, have started this diary to keep myself from going insane. Otherwise committing my inner thoughts to the written page would be out of the question and certainly a dangerous thing to do. So much has changed in these past few months though that what was certainly impossible is now the normal operating procedure for the day.

I could be worse off. I could have been executed with others. I could have lost my life like Lucius in the final battle between the Dark Lord and Potter. As usual, I have survived although to what extent you could call this surviving. A small cell at Azkaban prison is indeed just surviving. A daily ration of food, some exercise and long periods of nothing. At night I can hear in cells next to me the weeping and screams of the unfortunate ones who have transgressed. Should anyone consider us a civilized clan should spend some time here. They will come to a different conclusion.

I owe my existence to Narcissa Black Malfoy. Her appearance at the tribunal worked wonders on the judges. Of course the Blacks still, even to this day, wield considerable power in the wizardry world. She credited me with saving the life of her only son. It is an act I still question the intelligence of. But her widow's tears and heartfelt pleas for my life worked. The judges could not resist once she began and felt that she had lost enough.

I have been deprived of my freedom and my powers. I know they put a potion in my food and drink that robs me of the abilities I once had. I was a potions expert at one time, and I can smell it in the slop they serve me and in the water I drink. I can feel it in the sheets of my cot and can detect its residue in the soap they give me. It is everywhere. I suppose they are frightened of me, for at one time I was as powerful as some they admired and some they feared. They must feel they have to permeate me with it to keep me subdued.

There is no use in lamenting about it any longer. What is done, is done. In a way there is relief in this cell. I no longer have to hide or worry about what is about the next corner. I no longer have to mask my inner self, although allowing the Dementors to have access to that might kill me. I get an occasional visit from some new member of the Ministry. They are always sending someone to interrogate me and see if I know if other Death Eater still run amok. Always someone new. After I get done with them they refuse to come back.

My captors have been gracious enough to allow me paper and quill. Most likely they feel what harm could it do. They do take the quill back each time, fearing that I might be able to use it as some sort of weapon. Idiots. I am too tired to bother with them and do not care to waste my energy. Of course if I had my wand back that might be a different story.

My jailers have notified me I will have a guest tomorrow. That means an extra clean up for me and the return of my old clothes. Azkaban prison does not want to offend the delicate senses of the visitors. The jailers do not want what really happens here to be made public.

If they did there would be fewer of us in here and these jailers would be out of a job.

_Tuesday, May 15_

I have now been blessed with access to the bath twice this week.

At one time hot water and steam meant little to me. Now these precious elements are a comfort that I crave and wait for weekly. I should have more visitors and these lovely baths would occur twice a week all the time. Perhaps Narcissa Malfoy could do me the honors, since she is partially responsible for putting me here. Yes, that would be a fine idea. That way I could get my bath twice a week and get to smell that lovely perfume Narcissa likes to wear. Oh, she can boo-hoo for the entire visit about her poor dead husband and what a little wanker her son has become. He was not worth saving six years ago and he is still not worth saving now.

I have donned my old familiars. My frock coat has seen better days. The cuffs are a bit frayed and the color has faded some. It seems a tiny patch has been made on the hole in the front near one of the buttons. The damage that Potter's wand made on me that last time we met. A feeble attempt to make me presentable and hide the past at the same time, no doubt. However the chance to get away from prison garb is refreshing.

I have had to wait while the room is made ready for my visit. I have been wondering what silly fool has volunteered this time to come chat with the old professor. Certainly it will be some pasty faced want to be who has a strong desire to impress his superiors. They all have that idea, to come and pry the information from me. They all want to return with the intelligence of where the Death Eaters have flown to. Heroes is what they think they will become.

So little these dolts understand. They want to imagine the Dark Lord's movement is dead. Like a bonfire that raged out of control and ate up its kindling and air, the movement is extinguished or so they want to think. It is their fear that will not allow them to rest easy and it should not. The Dark Lord was a powerful force in our world. We seldom see wizards with such strength and vision as he had. The fire has never been put out entirely. Embers have flown here and there. The ideas and the protocols have been around for eons and they will never expire. These notions were not new when the Dark Lord first asserted them. A new generation will cull them and make them their own. But Aurors and the Ministry refuse to see that and so they do not search in the right places. No, they come to me and ask me silly questions about dead comrades. They should be out doing their business. It is easier to badger an old, sick man than it is to go about putting the flames of hatred out, is it not?

I hear the footsteps of my jailer coming, his keys jingling at his side. They will shackle me and escort me to the visitation room. There, for a few hours, someone new will be asking the questions again. And, as usual, I will not have the answers they seek.

I hope they brought some better tea than the last time.


	2. Chapter 2

_Later Same Day_

I had to ask for a damp cloth and some water as soon as I returned to my cell. I had not expected this interview to take as long as it did, nor did I expect the interrogator to be who it turned out to be.

Hermione Granger.

She is a grown woman now and not the insipid brat she once was. I had not seen her since those final days at my trial. She sat in the balcony then, listening to the judges and my prosecutors drone on. She had been injured during one of the clashes and wore a huge bandage on her arm. She had been burned severely by one of Bellatrix's spells. Granger had managed to survive. Bellatrix did not, thanks in part to Neville Longbottom.

She was sitting at the conference table in the visitation room when I came in. She had the air of a matron about her. Prim and proper, or at least that is what she wanted to exhibit to me. A neat suit, a starched white shirt and sensible heels on her shoes. She looked like one of the ladies from the garden club. The only jewelry she wore was a thin band about the finger. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun on the nape of her neck. She was trying to appear older than her years.

"Thank you for seeing me Professor Snape," she said as I entered.

"I had little choice in the matter," I replied. I sat down in the chair across from her, my shackles clinking. She made a face at the noise they made.

"Do you think," she said looking at the jailer, "those could be removed?"

"I wouldn't mum," replied the jailer. "This here is a real dangerous one."

Granger smiled at the jailer. "I am not afraid of the professor. Remove the shackles."

My jailer grumbled a bit under his breath and did what he was told. I felt the blood rush into my fingers as soon as the shackles were removed and uncontrollably I felt the need to rub my wrists. Again Granger smiled.

"I would suppose that is better, is it not, sir?" she said.

I am still a "sir". Interesting that you can take the girl out of the school but you can never truly get the school out of the girl.

"I have a few questions I would like to ask you Professor Snape," she said and she opened a leather folder in front of her. She picked up a pen and made herself ready to take notes.

"I have been working on a book," she said slowly and folded her hands neatly in front of her. "It is a biography of Albus Dumbledore."

I could feel the smirk on my face beginning to form. "Oh yes, Miss Granger. I have heard of this. I believe I heard the title was _Albus Dumbledore, A Life In The Service of Hogwarts_."   
Dumbledore would be appalled, I thought.

Granger smiled weakly and looked down at her paper. "Yes, and there are a few questions I had for you. I hope you won't mind."

"Why would I mind, Miss Granger?" I asked and I crossed my arms in front of my chest. "I have nothing better to do this afternoon."

Granger removed some notes from a flap in her leather folder and set them in front of her. "I have been doing some research on Professor Dumbledore. I have several of his personal papers and many of the notes he kept over the years. A diary I suppose you could call it."

It seems I have not been the only one to put one's thoughts to the page.

"I have found that Professor Dumbledore had an incredible obsession with the phoenix," Granger continued. "It seemed to touch everything in his life."

I sat silent. I have learned over the years to offer nothing unless asked.

"I have done some research into the phoenix," she continued. "The bird that dies and rises anew from its ashes."

"Most everyone knows that."

"Yes," she responded. "It achieves an immortality of sorts."

I remained silent.

"What few know," she went on in a soft voice, "is that at one time there may have been an ancient tribe of wizards that had the same powers of the phoenix."

"A tale that is told as a bedtime story by house-elves, Miss Granger," I replied. "What wizards cannot achieve yet dream of. Immortality. Even a wizard who is powerful beyond comprehension cannot overcome death. I would consider it foolish to hold with such tales."

"Dumbledore was a powerful wizard," she offered.

"And considered foolish by many," I replied curtly. I laughed and shook my head ruefully. "Many would consider him extremely foolish for trusting me as he did. I believe your friend Potter holds to that idea."

"I don't think he was a fool," she said quietly. "I think he was a member of that tribe of wizards who had captured the power of the phoenix and I think you knew it."

I remained silent and stunned.

Lupin might be right about her. She may indeed be the most brilliant witch of her generation. Or the most absurd. At this point I am not sure which.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Late Tuesday Night, Early Wednesday Morning _

I have eaten and am somewhat rested from the day. It seems my jailers have taken pity on me tonight and served me something other than the usual gruel they are famous for. Thinly sliced roast beef with a lovely brown gravy and roasted red potatoes were on the bill of fare tonight. Perhaps Granger had something to do with this. I also did not smell the taint of the potion they normally spill over it. An oversight on their part?

I have been recovering from the meeting I had with the insufferable little know it all since I returned to my cell. Granger may have grown up but she still has many of the same qualities she had as a student. The most evident is the fact that she does her homework and research very well. I had expected no less out of her but I was still shocked at her conclusions.

I can say she has turned out to be a very pretty woman but then she still has the bloom of youth with her. Unlike Narcissa or others who have allowed time and life to wear away their beauty,. Granger still has that fresh look about her. Perhaps she will not face the same things that women of my generation faced. The horror and terror of all that we created may be gone for awhile.

Granger has not changed in her intensity. Her theory about the true nature of Albus Dumbledore was all that she had on her mind and she would not rest until she got the answers she wanted to hear from me.

"I say it is rubbish," I told her. "You are basing your theory on a folk tale. You will look a fool if you publish a book espousing that."

Her face became very serious, her jaw set tautly. From a small case she retrieved a set of glasses and donned them. She fingered through some papers and found some pictures which she placed in front of me. They were pictures of a room I knew well.

"This is Dumbledore's office," she said pointing at the pictures. "As you can see there are several examples of phoenix art and sculpture in the office."

"And?"

"There is, of course, the group that he founded. The Order of the Phoenix."

"Proves nothing."

She pulled some papers out from her folder. "These are the private papers and writings of Professor Dumbledore. He mentions 'the return' quite frequently. Who's return do you think he is referring to?"

"I have no idea. The Dark Lord's? Harry Potter to the wizardry world? Perhaps a friend of his from long ago. I do not know."

"There is no mention of anyone else returning within these pages. Only 'the return' or 'on the return'. Professor Snape this means something.

"It means nothing. It is the ramblings of an old man who was obsessed with a mission he had taken on. A useless one at that."

She stared at me for a short time trying to recover from my last statement. I could see she was trying to formulate new strategy in her mind for her argument. I did not have to wait long.

"I have done some research into this tribe of phoenix wizards. It seemed they had worshipped and revered the mythical bird and had understood its magic. They were able to capture it and use it for themselves. They developed into a warrior group, intent on guarding the wizardry world from dark forces. They knew their immortality was a gift that had to be honored."

I had to leave the table at this statement. I walked away and turned my back to Granger not wanting to watch her intent face any longer.

"The stories that old crones and daft house-elves tell little children. The exact opposite of bogarts. It is an old belief that there is someone who is out there helping and saving ourselves from evil. I can say for a fact, Miss Granger, there is no one like that in the universe."

I felt a slight twinge of pain in my side and I returned to the table and sat down. I leaned across until I was only inches away from her face.

"In the Muggle world they call them angels. There is no proof that angels exist and never has been. There is no proof that this so-called guardian group of phoenix wizards exist. You are basing your theories on speculation and children's stories. I thought you had a better grasp of things than this Miss Granger."

Her face had taken on a reddish glow and I knew that I had struck a nerve with the little know it all. Unfortunately, I had also underestimated her.

"The funeral," she continued, "Dumbledore's body was engulfed in flames and vanished. His tomb has never been broken into."

"He may have wanted it that way."

"Harry saw the phoenix rise from the flames that day."

"Emotions. Tears at a funeral will make you see things that are not there."

"Dumbledore's last words were 'Severus, please.'"

"A defeated old man begging for his life."

"Or someone urging you to do what you didn't want to."

I froze for a second and thought very carefully of what I was going to say next.

"Oh I wanted to, Miss Granger. I wanted to do it."


	4. Chapter 4

_Early Wednesday Morning_

The sun is not up and yet I cannot sleep. My body seems to be rebelling against me and I ache from my toes to my head. I keep thinking it may be my dinner from last night. My system may no longer recognize good food for I seem to have a stomach that will not stop churning.

Or it might be that interview with Granger that still is gnawing at me.

She is like a dog with a bone. When she has an idea, no matter how inane it is, she will not let go. My interview with her proved that. When I felt that I uttered last word on the situation she would not let up. Little did I know that she would continue on her fantasy.

"There was a conversation that was overheard," Granger said in a voice I could barely hear, "in which you were heard saying you no longer wanted to do something. This conversation was between you and Professor Dumbledore."

At this point I could no longer control my anger. "Some eavesdropper has handed you a snippet of gossip from over six years ago and you take it for the truth. Honestly, Miss Granger, I thought you were quite above such tripe. I had no idea when I first had you in my classes that you would turn out to be such a incorrigible dreamer and weaver of tales."

Granger looked like I had slapped her in the face which I suppose I did verbally. It was certainly time to shut this line of reasoning off. With most of my interrogators I work a rage up that frightens them into fits. Today I was surprised at how a rage seemed to hurt my sides and make my head throb. But it had to be done if I was to silence her. I, again, underestimated our Miss Granger.

"This is a reliable source, Professor Snape," she retorted. "Hagrid overheard this conversation years ago. He told us just days afterward, while it was fresh in his mind. He even defended you in a way, saying it might be your way of complaining that you were working too hard. Why would Hagrid, of all people, make up such a conversation?"

"Because he was an idiot," I hissed at her." The man never had any sense. A little more that a child in his mind and actions."

"He was awarded the Order of Merlin posthumously for his bravery during those final days."

"If Hagrid had any sense about him he would have survived the battles he was in."

Granger slammed her hand down on the table. The noise and the quick action by her startled me into reticence. I saw that for the first time a true loss of control in Granger. Impressive.

"Hagrid died saving Ron and I from a Death Eater's attack," she snarled. "He died a hero. He loved Harry and for some strange reason, had at one time tried to cover for you and your actions. I will not listen to any more of this. You will respect Hagrid and his memory in my presence."

A surprising amount of backbone in this woman. Admirable. In some.

I leaned back in my chair and appraised the situation. A good deal of silence from me was needed at this point. I knew the stillness would drive her crazy. I was right.

"Let me go over the known facts and what I have discovered, Professor,' she said fumbling about with her papers. "We have reason to believe there was a race of phoenix wizards."

"Conjecture."

"Dumbledore was obsessed with phoenixes."

"He was obsessed with certain candies too."

"He was dreadfully ill during the days before you killed him."

"Perhaps the food from the cafeteria did not agree with him."

"At his funeral a spontaneous fire appeared and devoured his body. Several witnesses, beside Harry, saw a phoenix rise from the flames."

"Play of light, an emotional day."

"He and you had a confrontation regarding some action that Dumbledore wanted you to take."

"I remember no such conversation."

"His tomb has never been breached."

"No one strong enough to open that marble lid?"

She looked at me over her glasses. I have been told that there is such a thing as a poker face in the Muggle world. I suppose she was trying out her best one.

"Dumbledore trusted you above all others. At your first trial he defended you and throughout his life he had said many times that he trusted you for his own reasons. What would you think those reasons are sir?"

Good point. Something better left unanswered.

"I think you knew all along what Professor Dumbledore was. I think you knew he was indeed a phoenix wizard. That over the eons he has been about in some form or another, protecting and guarding us."

She stood up and moved around to my side of the table. She placed her hand on the table in front of me and leaned in close to my face.

"I think he knew he was dying and that his secret would be out. You presented him with the perfect way to leave and to keep his secret intact. You had to keep your Unbreakable Vow to Narcissa Malfoy or else you would die. Dumbledore had hoped that Draco could be saved from being a Death Eater. To accomplish all of this it had to be someone on the inside of the Death Eaters to make this happen. Someone who could watch out for Draco and keep him out of trouble. Someone who had proved himself to be a true believer to the cause and killing Dumbledore would show that beyond any question. Someone who had been adept at keeping secrets for years. It fits does it not?"

"One problem with your ideas, Miss Granger. Dumbledore was intent on defeating the Dark Lord."

"Because it was never really a fight between Voldemort and Dumbledore. It was always a fight between Harry and Voldemort."

Perceptive wench.

"If Dumbledore had been alive through the final battle, then Harry would have never really killed the demons that haunted his past. He had to do it on his own, and with Dumbledore about Harry would have relied too much on him. No, I think it was a plan that the two of you devised."

She is indeed a brilliant witch with a brilliant mind. But then anyone can see unicorns racing in the clouds across the sky can they not?

"So Miss Granger if all this is true then why am I rotting away in Azkaban prison? Surely your sainted Dumbledore would not allow one of his most trusted inferiors to lay waste here. It does not make sense. Your theory is weak."

Granger smirked at me and stepped back from the table. She folded her arms in front of her chest and straightened her spine.

"Dumbledore assured you that you would never rot here. He granted you the secrets of the phoenix magic."

She held her hand up to silence me. "Think very hard and very long before you deny this. Consider the implications, Professor. If no murder had occurred then an innocent man is in a cell at Azkaban. If no crime has been committed then your freedom would be assured. Confirmation of these facts will be your passage out of here."

Temptations take many forms.

"And if Dumbledore is indeed alive? What then Miss Granger?"

I waited for her answer.


	5. Chapter 5

_Late Wednesday Night, Early Thursday Morning_

I have an ache in my bones and a fever in me this morning . The bath yesterday did me no  
good for I have noticed how black my fingernails have become. There might be an more  
ominous reason for this than filth though. They may be poisoning me, these jailers of  
mine. I am still quite the hated man. It would not surprise me.

I cannot get the events of yesterday out of my mind. I spent last night pushing them  
from one corner of my brain to another. Hermione Granger has deprived me of a restful  
night sleep. Her thoughts and theories have filled my day. Damn her. Of all the students I  
had taught, she always did have a sharp mind. Nothing like that dull Ron Weasley or that  
mousy Neville Longbottom. A pair of dunderheads.

What she has done is frighten me with her arguments. There is a danger that these  
concepts could catch fire and explode in our world. There could be some sort of false  
hope generated by something like this. Or even worse a new movement filled with fervid  
practitioners of it. No matter how benign the idea is, when driven on by zealots these groups become insidious and take on a life of their own. The individual loses and the group becomes a  
monster.

Look at the Death Eaters.

I had asked the question and was waiting for her answer. One thing I remembered well about Granger was she was never able to formulate answers to direct questions unless they were written down somewhere. She was thinking and it was taking a while. I had the time.

"We need Professor Dumbledore," she said quietly. "We need his advice and guidance."

"And who is we, Miss Granger?"

"The Ministry needs him."

"Nonsense, they never cared for anything Albus Dumbledore did or said. Why would they start now?"

"The Ministry has changed, Professor," Granger replied. "The old ones are gone, for the most part. Those who have replaced them are former students of Dumbledore. His knowledge and wisdom would be helpful to all."

"I doubt seriously that his expertise would be appreciated," I retorted. "Prophets are not recognized in their own time. It is wishing for the past on your part."

"No sir, it is not wishing for the past," she replied. "Although if it were for one thing I could wish for it would be the truth out of you."

Granger stood in front of me with a smug look on her face. There was a part of me that  
wanted so badly to smack it off of her with a barrage of my wit and sarcasm. I realized  
that she had not buckled under to any of it so far so a different strategy had to be used.

"Miss Granger would you sit down?" I asked quietly.

Granger looked puzzled but I insisted. She returned to her seat across from me. I leaned  
over resting on my elbows on the table and looked her straight in the eyes.

"Why is it that you cannot accept the truth?" I asked in a soft voice. I tried very hard to  
sound harsh or acerbic.

She tilted her head to one side. "That is why I am here, Professor. To get the truth."

"The truth is that I did kill Albus Dumbledore."

"I know on the surface you did, but.."

I raised my hand to silence her. "I killed him of my own volition."

I pushed my chair back and rose from my seat. I walked away from the table to a small  
window in the room. What I needed to say was going to be best said as far away from her  
as possible.

"I killed him with the most dangerous, powerful curses known in our world. It was my  
voice and the light from my wand that completed that act. I did it because it was what I  
wanted to do and that is the end of it."

I looked back at her. She seemed to become very small. The matron look to her had  
melted away and the schoolgirl that I once had in my classes seemed to appear in front of  
me. I continued.

"Many of your generation have lost much in this war we fought. Some of you have seen  
more death and destruction than all of your ancestors ever did. Possibly with this  
peace there will no more wicked waste of life.

"I know many of you worshipped Albus Dumbledore as a leader and a mentor.  
Conceivably even as a father figure. That was easy to do with him. But he was a mortal,  
just like you and I, and that is the truth.

"I think many of you want to have something to return to that was safe and comforting.  
Hoping that someone we revered is still with us is common enough. We all have those  
feelings. It is a romantic notion that Dumbledore was part of a clan of phoenix wizards  
who could rise from the dead and protect us from calamity. However, it does his memory  
no justice. It cheapens who he actually was and by pressing this idea you would  
commit a sin not unlike what I have done. You would destroy who he really was and  
replace his being with fable.

"We in the magical world have been able to slow down the ages, trick time but we have  
never been able to conquer death. It comes to us all. We have to accept that no matter  
how great our powers are. We all will leave this world eventually. Wishing that there was  
some magic that could fool death is imprudent and ultimately harmful. Harmful because  
the truth always does prevail just like its partner death."

I left the window and returned to my seat across from Granger. I could see tears were  
beginning to form in her eyes. I looked down and again saw the thin gold ring on her  
finger.

"Are you married?" I asked.

"Yes, " she sniffed looking down at the ring.

"Really," I said in mock surprise. "Why have you allowed me to continue to call you Miss  
Granger all this time?"

She laughed holding back her tears. "It is a little awkward to correct your former teacher,  
you know."

I could not stop the corner of my mouth from turning upward. "Fair enough. So what is  
your married name?"

"Weasley."

"Oh," I said shaking my head. I stopped for a second and thought. I had to ask.

"Which one?"

At this she laughed again. "Ron, of course."

"Oh, well there were so many of them."

She laughed again and looked down at her folder. "I am going to have a baby in  
November. I started this project because Ron did not want me teaching while I was  
pregnant. Too much work, he said. Too much stress. He worries a lot about me."

"Chivalrous of him, one would say."

With my hand I reached for her and gently patted her hand.

"I think you should look for the answers to life among the living and not among the dead.  
Dumbledore would tell you that if he were here."

There was not much more to say to each other. The room fell very quiet for a long time  
until the squeal of the door signaled the arrival of the jailer who had come to fetch me.

As the jailer shackled my hands once again a question came to mind.

"Do you know what you are having? I mean a boy or a girl?"

She smiled shyly. "A boy. We want to call him Harry Albus."

I suppose considering the name _Severus_ would have been asking too much.

"Good-bye Mrs. Weasley," I said as the jailer led me to the door.

"Good-bye Professor Snape," she said in a tiny voice. "Thank you for your time."

Time. A valuable commodity to some. To a prisoner of Azkaban prison like myself who  
has nothing but time it means nothing. But I am glad she appreciated I gave her.

I have had a wretched time breathing. Each breath I take burns my lungs and pains the  
sides of my body. The fever has not stopped and I can tell as each new spike in it appears.  
I have known for some time this was coming. I am surprised at how quickly the  
symptoms pile on to one another. What was a faint ache a few days ago has become a  
raging agony today. I had been warned of the way this would go yet still nothing prepares  
you for it. It has not helped matters that I had to use every last bit of my strength  
yesterday with Granger, excuse me, Mrs. Weasley, to keep her off the track.

Dying is not easy to do. Neither is keeping secrets. I am skilled at the latter but a novice at  
the former.

I am not sorry that it is happening. Not at all. There is nothing left here for me so leaving  
life at this point will be a blessing. Another twenty years in this tiny cell would be  
tortuous to say the least. The pain that I endure for now assures me of a release from this  
existence of boredom and confinement. Freedom of a sort.

In retrospect, I have considered that life presents one with a bounty of opportunities but  
few or no second chances. What we say or do is imprinted upon history with a mark that  
no one can rub out. My mark will be remembered but not admired. It is the mark that I  
made. I cannot change what has been done.

It would be nice to think the next time around I would be wiser in making some of the  
choices that are offered me. Not wanting to be accepted to the point losing my soul would  
certainly be one of them. I would be watchful for the evil that permeates through our  
world and stop it before it strangles the innocent and the weak. I would avoid the  
temptation the evil ones lure you with. I would walk in the sunlight and not in the  
shadows.

Albus told me it would hurt like this. He did not exaggerate. He was never one to lie  
about things. He never broke a promise to me either. I hope he does not start now. If I  
have made a mistake in trusting him then it will be the last in a lifetime strewn with  
mistakes.

I know by tomorrow what they will find is the shell of once was the person of Severus  
Snape dead on his cot. They do not bury here. They want no shrines or monuments  
erected to the villains of our world. They cremate the corpses and scatter the ashes. Mine  
will be no exception. Of course that will fit into my plans just perfectly. A nice funeral  
pyre will set my soul free, rising along with the flames and the smoke into the sky. I will  
soar over the countryside and leave the bonds that this life has afforded me. New vistas  
are on my horizon and I will seek them out.

Albus told me not to worry and he would find me. I am not sure how. I am not sure how I  
will recognize him or how he will know it is me. But I have trusted him before and, as I  
have said, he has never broken a promise to me. Nor have I ever unlocked his secrets to  
anyone. We were a good pair in that way.

I hope he has a cup of tea waiting for me or better still some cognac. I think after all of  
this it could be the least he could do for an old friend who has come a long way to see  
him again.


End file.
